


Presumed

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blindfolds, Bondage, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, M/M, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, No Aftercare, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-03-09 03:55:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13473180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: "Tatsuya likes to think he’s pretty good at dealing with Atsushi. But, of course, even he can make missteps sometimes." Tatsuya has some plans for the evening and Atsushi is impatient.





	Presumed

Tatsuya likes to think he’s pretty good at dealing with Atsushi.

It’s not that it’s particularly difficult. The other is motivated by very few things: snacks foremost among those, and a desire to avoid any effort at all following close behind. There’s some petulance in there too, in certain circumstances; that’s most useful on the basketball court, when Tatsuya is doing his best to push Atsushi into one of his game-ending plays. And desire, occasionally, although that’s generally a motivator Tatsuya saves for his more personal pursuits rather than making use of during practice or for the purposes of a game. Atsushi doesn’t respond well to persuasive speeches or motivational chants; but that’s okay, Tatsuya doesn’t need to rely on things like that. He knows what motivates Atsushi, and he knows where he wants the other to go; and between the two, it’s reasonably straightforward to keep the other moving on more or less the track Tatsuya wants him to follow.

But, of course, even he can make missteps sometimes.

“Hurry up,” Atsushi says from the end of the bed. He’s sitting cross-legged atop the sheets at present, his knees angled wide to take up most of the space at the end of the mattress; his hands empty of snacks, for once, which Tatsuya thinks now might have been more of a mistake than otherwise. “I thought you wanted to have sex, Muro-chin.”

“I do,” Tatsuya admits. He shifts his knees a little wider apart so he can get a better angle on the thrust of his slick fingers where he’s working himself open. “That’s what we’re doing.”

“We’re not,” Atsushi says with flat accuracy. “You’re fingering yourself and I’m not doing anything. This is boring.”

“It’ll just be a little longer,” Tatsuya attempts, trying to offer some kind of comfort to Atsushi’s irritable temper while he keeps stroking himself open with as much efficiency as he can muster. “You know you always like fucking me, right Atsushi?”

“I don’t want to have to wait around,” Atsushi sighs. “I could just be using your throat instead.” He reaches down to press at the front of his loose shorts and adjust the fabric around the weight of his cock inside them; he’s only half-hard, about as much as Tatsuya can ever stir him to without direct, unceasing effort, but it’s still enough to tent the fabric around him with possibility. “It would be a lot easier.”

“This’ll be better,” Tatsuya says. “I’m almost ready for you, Atsushi, I promise.”

“Can’t I just take you like you are now?” Atsushi asks. “You’re already all wet, aren’t you?”

Tatsuya huffs a laugh that comes out a little more breathless than he intends. “I don’t think you could fit,” he admits. “You’re not exactly small, Atsushi.”

Atsushi doesn’t so much as bat an eye at Tatsuya’s attempt at flattery. “I don’t care,” he says. “If you want me to fuck you you should be ready for me before you ask.”

“I wanted to make sure you would say yes before I went through the trouble,” Tatsuya points out. “In case you just wanted a blowjob or something.”

Atsushi heaves a sigh that sounds more like frustration than resignation to Tatsuya’s statement. When his lashes dip it’s to cast his gaze to shadow as he tilts his head to consider the tremor running against the inside of Tatsuya’s thighs as the other strokes into himself with a pair of fingers together. “Are you ready now?”

Tatsuya ducks his head. “Almost,” he says. “Just give me another minute, Atsushi, and then you can do whatever you want with me.”

“This is  _ boring _ ,” Atsushi whines. “I should have just had you suck me off in the first place.”

“This will be better,” Tatsuya insists. “It’ll be worth it, just be patient.”

Atsushi huffs an exhale. “I hate waiting.”

“I know,” Tatsuya soothes. He’s only speaking with half his attention; more of his focus is caught on the rhythm of his fingers sliding up and into himself as he spreads them apart to urge himself wider, to ease open some of the instinctive strain within him in preparation for the heat of Atsushi’s cock working up and into him. “It’ll feel so good when you’re inside me, though, it’ll be worth it.” Atsushi’s gaze is following the motion of Tatsuya’s fingers, his expression so slack he looks more disinterested than intrigued; but his hand is still lingering over the front of his shorts, his fingers sliding idly in over the length of his cock through the fabric, and Tatsuya knows Atsushi well enough to recognize the faint suggestion of interest in the other’s gaze. He presses his heels into the bed to brace himself and lets his knees tip open, just slightly; not enough to draw Atsushi’s attention to the motion, but enough to catch the light against the inside of his thighs and illuminate the slick of the lube coating his fingers where he’s thrusting into himself. Atsushi’s lashes dip, Atsushi’s head tips, and Tatsuya keeps going, moving with deliberate force as he watches Atsushi watching him stroke himself wider in expectation of the other. “Don’t you like the way I feel under you, Atsushi, when you’re pushing me down against the bed and using me for your own satisfaction?” Atsushi’s lips shift, his throat works; Tatsuya can see his fingers move as he slides his hold down his shaft to catch at the weight of his balls through his shorts and palm against them with idle intent. Tatsuya licks his lips, and takes a breath, and keeps talking, speaking faster now as he speeds the motion of his hand. “You can do whatever you want to me, Atsushi, just be patient for a little bit longer and I’ll make it worth your while.”

“I don’t want to wait,” Atsushi says. His voice is dipping down, his words dropping until they’re resonating against the inside of his chest; Tatsuya can see his shoulders tipping forward as his hand grinds in against his hips. “I want it now.”

“I know,” Tatsuya says. “Just a little more and--”

Atsushi shakes his head sharply. “Now,” he says; and he’s moving at once, with the graceful, predatory speed he sometimes shows on the court, the rapidity that ought to be impossible for someone of his size. He’s tipping in sharply, rocking forward onto his knees at the same time he’s reaching out for Tatsuya’s wrist; his fingers close tight, his grip entirely encircling the other’s arm before his grip flexes to drag Tatsuya’s slick fingers back and out of himself. Tatsuya jerks with the friction, his breath spilling out of him in a rush as he clenches hard around the sudden lack of pressure inside him; but Atsushi is pulling at his arm without waiting, pushing Tatsuya over to land face-first on the bed while the other is still gasping shock at the sudden contact.

“It’s been a minute,” Atsushi says, his voice rumbling over the words like thunder, like the proof of some inevitable oncoming storm. His hand catches at Tatsuya’s hip to shove the other down flat against the bed, his knee slides to shove against the inside of Tatsuya’s thigh; Tatsuya’s legs splay open in obedient surrender, his body urged to submission by the casual force of Atsushi pushing against him. Behind him there’s the sound of fabric rustling as Atsushi catches his thumb against the inside of his waistband and pushes to urge his shorts down off his hips; then the bed shifts, the give of the mattress enough to speak to Atsushi’s movement even if Tatsuya couldn’t feel the pressure as Atsushi leans in over him, relying on his hold at Tatsuya’s hip to steady his balance. His knees push wide, forcing the other’s thighs open with little concern for the strain Tatsuya can feel running up the whole inside length of his legs, and against Tatsuya’s entrance there’s the slide of pressure, the solid heat of Atsushi’s cock urging in and against him.

“No more waiting,” Atsushi says, a declaration and not a question; and his hips rock forward, his cock forces into Tatsuya beneath him. Tatsuya clenches down against the pressure, reflexive force seizing against the whole of his spine as he loses his grasp on the air in his lungs; he’s been working himself open, but there’s a difference between the angle of his fingers and the weight of Atsushi’s cock driving forward and into him. Atsushi is thicker than Tatsuya’s fingers, Tatsuya can feel the pull of strain in him as his body struggles and protests the intrusion; he only makes in it by an inch before his motion stalls, held fast by the instinctive pressure of Tatsuya’s body around him. Tatsuya gasps a breath against the sheets, trying to steady himself against the sudden force pushing into him; behind him Atsushi hisses over frustration, his hand tightening at Tatsuya’s hip as his weight draws back to retreat by a half-inch.

“Relax, Muro-chin,” Atsushi says, growling over the words as a complaint more than a request. “You’re squeezing me too hard.”

“I’m trying,” Tatsuya pants. “You’re too big, Atsushi, I need a minute.”

Atsushi huffs. “I’m tired of waiting,” he says; and then there’s a smack against Tatsuya’s hip, the crack of an open palm landing just against the curve of his ass. Tatsuya spasms with the shock of it, his body clenching and then easing with the first involuntary reaction to the sudden sensation; and Atsushi’s thighs flex hard, Atsushi’s hips pump forward, and Tatsuya’s head goes back as the whole length of the other’s cock sinks into him at once, his throat opening up on a moan somewhere between shock and arousal at the sudden sensation filling him up.

“There,” Atsushi sighs. His palm against Tatsuya’s hip slides down, his fingers tighten to lay claim to the whole of the other’s hip at once; when he pulls up Tatsuya is drawn off the bed without a chance to resist, his body angling up to settle close against Atsushi’s by the other’s will more than his own. Atsushi’s hips rock, his cock shifts inside the grip of Tatsuya’s body; Tatsuya can feel himself fluttering around the other’s length as his body ripples through convulsions of heat too instinctive for him to resist even if he wanted to. Atsushi’s knees slide forward to settle under his hips, until Tatsuya is supported more by the other’s legs than by his own will; behind him Atsushi takes a deep breath and lets it out in the closest thing to satisfaction he ever musters. “That’s better.” His hips rock again, his legs shifting to take another easy stroke into Tatsuya’s body as his hands at the other’s hips pull. “Move, Muro-chin.”

Tatsuya gasps a breath. It’s hard to think as he is; his head is pressing down to the blankets beneath him, his hips are angled sharply up to meet the level of Atsushi’s behind him. His body is shaking, the whole of him trembling with the effort to relax around the pressure inside him and the feeling of Atsushi’s cock forcing space for itself within his body; and his cock is aching, throbbing with heat where it’s hanging heavy between his spread-open thighs and the support of Atsushi’s knees under him. The idea of moving is impossible to fathom, too much for anyone to possibly expect; but Atsushi isn’t moving, his hands are still gripping hard at Tatsuya’s hips, and Tatsuya doesn’t have any illusions about the other’s sincerity. Atsushi is always interested in the easiest path for himself, the simplest route to the most pleasure; and that means when he tells Tatsuya to move, he means it exactly. Tatsuya shudders an exhale, and shuts his eyes to steady himself; and then he braces his hands against the bed under him, and turns his head down to the sheets, and he begins to move, rocking his hips forward by an inch so he can press backwards to fuck himself against the resistance of Atsushi’s cock held inside him.

Atsushi makes a low noise, closer to an exhale than carrying the effort of a groan, but the satisfaction on the sound is enough to make his feelings clear without a need for anything more articulate. His hands at Tatsuya’s hips ease, his grip settling to casual possessiveness against the other’s body, and Tatsuya presses his head against the sheets beneath him and keeps moving. The pressure inside him is intense, he can feel his body aching with every pull forward he takes to ease off some of the effort of holding Atsushi within him; but there’s desire there, too, a tension building deep down in his stomach with something very nearly masochistic in its need for more. Tatsuya doesn’t think about whether he should push back onto Atsushi’s cock, doesn’t hesitate over the action; as he moves forward he can feel the ache of want building in him with the withdrawal, can feel the edge of anticipation sharpening to near-pain before he pushes himself back hard to let Atsushi’s length sink far into him. It’s stealing his breathing, catching at the back of his throat even as his legs shake, even as his body tightens against Atsushi’s length, until Tatsuya is moving more for his own pleasure than for Atsushi’s, until the heat of the other’s arousal within him feels more like a tool for his own release than evidence of Atsushi’s own desire. Tatsuya can hear himself panting, can hear his breathing going ragged as he works himself over Atsushi’s cock, as he grinds his hips down to feel the shift of Atsushi moving inside him; and he’s letting his hold on the sheets go and lifting a hand from where he’s pushing down against the bed so he can fumble for his cock instead. He gets his fingers closed around himself, whimpering in the back of his throat as he tightens his hold, as he strokes up to pull a surge of heat into his veins; and from over him there’s a hiss, a growl from Atsushi so dark and low it takes Tatsuya a moment to parse it as the “ _ No _ ” it is. Tatsuya’s rhythm stutters, his motion sticking on the weight of confusion; and then there’s a hand at his back, fingers grabbing at the fabric of his shirt, and he’s being pushed down against the sheets beneath him with enough force that the air in his lungs spills from him in a gust of sound.

“Don’t,” Atsushi says, his tone so certain for a moment Tatsuya can’t do anything but go absolutely still with the first rush of terrified obedience to such complete dominance. Atsushi’s hold at Tatsuya’s shirt shoves up over the other’s back, the cloth tangling against Tatsuya’s shoulders as he moves. “Don’t touch yourself.”

Tatsuya blinks down at the sheets under him. “What?” he says, turning his head to look over his shoulder at Atsushi. “Why?”

“Don’t,” Atsushi says again, repeating his insistence instead of answering. His hand fisted in Tatsuya’s shirt shoves hard against the other’s shoulder, where Tatsuya is still holding to the heat of his cock. “Let go.”

“Why?” Tatsuya says again, but he’s letting his hold go anyway, easing his grip so his arm falls slack to the bed beneath him. “Doesn’t it feel good for you?”

“I don’t want you to come before I do,” Atsushi says. His eyes are dark where he’s looking at Tatsuya’s shoulders; his mouth is set on a petulant frown. When he pushes against Tatsuya’s shirt it’s with enough force that Tatsuya can feel himself sliding forward across the bed under Atsushi. “Lift your arms.”

“I won’t touch myself,” Tatsuya protests, but it’s a weak argument and he’s moving to obey anyway. “I thought you liked the feel of me coming around you.”

“You made me wait,” Atsushi says; Tatsuya barely catches the words before Atsushi is pushing his shirt up over his head, inverting the fabric so it catches around Tatsuya’s arms and covers his face at once. Tatsuya pulls against the cloth, trying to slide his wrists free so he can brace himself to move again, but Atsushi just grabs at the back of his head, pinning the weight of his shirt in against his hair and shoving Tatsuya down against the sheets at one and the same time. “I want you to wait for me this time.”

Tatsuya gasps a breath. He can’t see Atsushi behind him, can’t even turn his head to try to glimpse some glow of illumination through the weight of his shirt; his face is pinned down against the pillows beneath him, the fabric of his shirt is caught over his eyes and around his arms like makeshift bonds and blindfold at once. “Atsushi, wait, I--”

“I’m  _ tired _ of waiting,” Atsushi growls; and then his fingers tighten at Tatsuya’s hip, his arm flexes, and Tatsuya is dragged back over the sheets, the angle of his body pulled into motion by Atsushi’s action to slide back and onto the shaft of the other’s cock. Tatsuya jerks with the feel of it, his thighs flexing involuntarily at the sudden pull of heat working inside him, but Atsushi’s hold on him doesn’t flinch.

“There,” Atsushi says; and his grip on Tatsuya’s hip eases, his fingers loosening to drape heavy against the other’s skin again. It’s an idle hold, unthinking and reflexive more than conscious, like Atsushi is more steering Tatsuya with the weight of his touch than anything else. “Keep going, Muro-chin.”

Tatsuya drags a breath. His eyes are wide against the dark of his shirt, his arms are angled awkwardly over his head; his mouth is so close against the fabric in front of him that every breath huffs hot against his face as his own exhalations fills the space around him. He feels dizzy, trapped, locked in place by those fingers at the back of his head as Atsushi casually palms the whole of his skull in one hand; and he’s clenching around Atsushi inside him, his body so helplessly hot with desire he can’t stop the fluttering tremors working around the pressure of the other’s cock. Tatsuya can feel himself aching for more, can feel his entire body thrumming with the desire for more sensation, for more heat, for more friction; and he gasps an overheated breath, and he angles his elbows down against the mattress under him, and he rocks himself back. Atsushi is waiting to meet him, his hips rocking forward to thrust himself hard against the last inch of Tatsuya’s movement; it’s enough to jolt up Tatsuya’s spine, to flutter his lashes and tremble through his shoulders where they’re pinned still by Atsushi’s hold.

“I like that,” Atsushi declares. His voice is somewhat muffled by the cloth he’s holding over Tatsuya’s head, but the heat under his tone is enough for Tatsuya to understand with crystal clarity even with the details of his words lost to the fabric. Atsushi’s knees shift against Tatsuya’s as he adjusts his position to greater comfort, as his legs push Tatsuya’s wider by a half-inch. “Go on.”

Tatsuya presses his lips tight together, swallowing hard from the shadows of his inverted shirt against the pressure of Atsushi’s palm shoving him down to the bed. It’s hard to breathe, impossible to see; even his backwards motion is a challenge, without the full use of his arms to guide him. His cock is aching, trembling towards his stomach and going slick with the need for contact, for friction, for some kind of sensation to match the too-much working inside him; and Tatsuya can no more reach for himself than he can find the voice to beg Atsushi to touch him instead. Atsushi might, if Tatsuya pleaded enough, or if his own whims led him to it; the other’s moods are fleeting, it would hardly be the first time Tatsuya has talked him out of something a matter of minutes after his initial statement. It wouldn’t hurt anything to ask, anyway; and Tatsuya shuts his eyes, and gasps a breath, and he moves to rock himself back without saying anything at all.

It’s a disorienting experience. Tatsuya can’t see anything around him, can’t judge his movement by the shift of his surroundings or the hampered flex of his arms or the slide of the sheets beneath him; there’s only the shift of his body, the strain of his thighs and shoulders and stomach as he pushes back to fuck himself onto Atsushi’s cock, as he rocks forward in expectation for another motion. His sense of scale is giving way, melted somewhere behind the dip of his shadowed lashes and the pant of his too-hot breath, until it feels like Atsushi is expanding within him, as if his backwards slide onto the other’s length is some endless torment of pleasure. Tatsuya’s body is quivering around Atsushi’s, his thighs are cramping and his cock is twitching and his chest is heaving; but every slide of Atsushi’s cock pulls instead of stroking, grinding against something Tatsuya can feel ache in his balls but that brings him no nearer to the point of orgasm. His arousal is building with every thrust, spreading to fill his stomach, to strain his chest, to haze his thoughts; and still he can’t come, even as every backwards angle of his hips urges him hotter. All he can do is keep moving, keep tipping his body backwards to transfix himself on Atsushi’s length; and so he does, gasping for air as his thoughts haze, as his eyelids go so heavy Tatsuya wonders if he’s going to pass out, if he’s drifting towards unconsciousness from the pant of his breathing and the weight of the shirt against his lips and the too-much heat building in him. He doesn’t know how long he can go on, he doesn’t want this to ever stop, he feels like he’s already slipped into an eternity of perpetually rising pleasure; and then Atsushi’s fingers tighten at the back of his head, and Atsushi takes a breath rough enough for Tatsuya to hear, and Tatsuya can feel the promise of the other’s arousal fix in the fingers at his hip as Atsushi’s own pleasure sets harder inside him.

Tatsuya doesn’t slow, doesn’t speed. He isn’t sure he could do anything else right now other than what he is doing; his rhythm feels ingrained into the marrow of his bones, like it’s guiding him as much as the pant of his breathing in his chest. He can no more urge Atsushi’s orgasm to break than he can delay it; all he can do is keep moving, stroking into himself with Atsushi’s cock as he feels the length of it swell, as the heat of anticipation swells Atsushi steel-hard inside him. Tatsuya is gasping, his breath whimpering in his chest as he moves; and then Atsushi grunts over him, his voice breaking from low to high for that one brief sound, and when his hips snap forward Tatsuya can feel the pulse of heat through the other’s body spill up and into him. Tatsuya groans in his throat as Atsushi’s fingers tighten at his hip, as the tension of the other’s orgasm finally stalls his rhythmic motion; Tatsuya can feel the ripples of denial radiating through him and jerking in his thighs as reflex tries to move him, to keep seeking out his own arousal even as Atsushi is capitulating to his own. But he can’t move, he can’t resist, he can’t do anything at all; and Tatsuya feels himself go slack, surrendering to Atsushi’s control while he lets the other spend the heat in him against the inside of Tatsuya’s body. He can hear the rasp of Atsushi’s breathing, can feel the tiny, convulsive jolts of the other’s hips as Atsushi thrusts into him for the last ripples of pleasure; and then Atsushi sighs, the sound heavy and hot, and the hand at Tatsuya’s head draws away to leave him free to move again.

It takes Tatsuya a moment to respond. He’s dizzy with frustrated arousal and half-stifled breathing; it’s hard to make sense of the sudden freedom, much less to act on it. But then Atsushi’s hand catches at his hip, the wide span of the other’s fingers settle in to bracket Tatsuya in place, and:

“Muro-chin,” Atsushi says, his voice retreating back to his usual nonchalance as quickly as he speaks. “Move.”

Tatsuya blinks hard, trying to gain traction on his thoughts before he struggles himself free of his shirt, pushing the fabric back down over his shoulders so he can ease his movement again. The air feels cold in comparison, when he takes a breath, his eyes burn with the sudden illumination; but he’s looking back over his shoulder at Atsushi and can’t spare attention for either. “What?”

“Move,” Atsushi says again, and then he lifts his chin to indicate Tatsuya’s hand still fisted at the sheets in front of him. “Jerk yourself off, Muro-chin.”

Tatsuya moves, obedient but confused as he tips himself over one shoulder so he can reach down for his straining cock. “Are you sure? I can handle myself if you want to take a shower or something.”

“Yeah,” Atsushi says. His eyes are very dark; his tone is unflinching. “I want to feel you come like this, Muro-chin.”

The words would be enough on their own, Tatsuya thinks, to flush him to hardness even were he gasping with satisfaction and not trembling with need; as it is his lashes flutter of their own accord, his hips jerk as if to rock forward against Atsushi’s hold on him. But Atsushi is bracing him, his grip unflinching enough to speak to the sincerity of his words; and besides Tatsuya would like nothing more than to obey that particular command as rapidly as possible. He presses his head down to the bed, gasping a breath of air as he wraps his fingers tight around himself; and then he starts to stroke, moving with a rough, savage pace as if to make up for the slow-building frustration of the last few minutes. His hips jerk, his legs tremor with involuntary action; but Atsushi’s hands steal all the mobility from Tatsuya’s body, until all he can really do is lie panting against the pillows beneath him while his tight-fisted grip works over himself with a desperate pace. Atsushi is still inside him, his cock softening a little from the full flush of his arousal but still full enough to resist Tatsuya’s helpless clenching against it. Tatsuya wonders how it feels to Atsushi, to have the other quivering around him, to feel the tension of Tatsuya’s fast-rising orgasm fluttering around the lingering arousal of his own spent pleasure; he wonders how he looks to Atsushi, with his face red and mouth wet from panting and his arm jerking wildly over himself. He must look desperate, wanton, undone by his own struggling efforts to fuck himself onto Atsushi’s cock; and Atsushi’s hands pull, urging Tatsuya back and flush with his hips, and Tatsuya spasms against him, his whole body clenching tight around and under Atsushi’s hold as his cock spurts wet over the sheets of the bed beneath him. He’s making a mess of himself as much as of the bed, his composure is long-since lost to the pant of his breathing against the inside of his shirt; but just at the moment Tatsuya is too busy moaning Atsushi’s name to the white-out haze of his vision to care.

It takes him a while to come back to himself. His shoulders slump forward, the strain in his body gives way to leave him tipping hard against the sheets under him; Tatsuya thinks he could stay right where he is for hours, gazing vacantly at the wall of the bedroom as he lingers in satiated contentment. But Atsushi only gives him a minute before he huffs a breath that speaks to his impatience, and digs his thumbs into Tatsuya’s hips as the only warning he gives before pushing the other forward and off him. Tatsuya shudders with the friction as he falls forward to sprawl over the bed, his knees still spread wide around Atsushi’s and his fingers still curled idly around the heat of his cock; but Atsushi is sliding away already, retreating to the end of the bed without waiting for Tatsuya to so much as lift his head.

“I’m all sweaty,” Atsushi complains. Tatsuya can hear his feet hit the floor with all the heavy sound of a bell tolling; when he lifts his head to look back over his shoulder Atsushi is dragging his shorts back into place around his hips and reaching to push the weight of his hair off the back of his neck. “I’m taking a shower.”

Tatsuya watches the slide of Atsushi’s fingers into his hair, his hazy attention clinging to the weight of one lock that remains clinging to the damp at the back of the other’s neck as he turns to move away towards the bedroom door. It takes him a moment to find words; even when he does offer them, his voice turns them into something low and huskier than he intended. “Do you mind company?” Atsushi’s shoulder lifts up, the gesture brief but clear; and then he’s pulling open the door and stepping out into the hallway. He doesn’t look back, doesn’t offer any further answer than that; but Tatsuya is already bracing his hands against the sheets under him and pushing himself to upright so he can find his boxers and trail Atsushi to the bathroom.

No one knows how to read Atsushi better than Tatsuya does.


End file.
